


a king to a god

by pen_and_sword



Category: Licanius Series - James Islington
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, There's more characters but I can't be bothered to tag them, and no one knows what the fuck is going on, everyone spews bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_and_sword/pseuds/pen_and_sword
Summary: A man woke up in a forest with no memory of anything whatsoever, was run into by priest, and things just snowballed from there





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red Dragon (Red_Dragon)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Red+Dragon+%28Red_Dragon%29).



The man looked around wondering where he was. 

Then he blinked and started wondering who he was. 

He looked down at his hands. They were pale and calloused, with nails bitten down so far blood coated what was left of them. He was wearing clothes he thought were expensive, and definitely not supposed to be found on a man with calloused hands and no memory. But what would an amnesiac know about the quality of clothes? 

At least the man knew he was in forest. It would have been nicer if he had known which forest, or why he in a forest, or how to get out of the forest, or how he’d gotten into the forest in the first place, or anything, really, but the man supposed beggars shouldn’t be choosers.

The forest was filled with tall, towering trees, as forests are sometimes prone to being filled with. As far as forests went, the man didn't think it was a bad forest; but then again, he hadn't seen many forests. Birdsong flittered around him and a squirrel stared warily from a tree. The man nervously smiled back. The squirrel ducked behind the trunk of the tree and scrambled upwards. 

The man stood where he was for a long time. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, but he felt tired anyways. It wasn't a tiredness that sleep brought; it was the sort of tired that wormed itself into the very marrow of your bones, and then spread until you were more tired than human. 

The man let out a long sigh. He didn't know what done to deserve the tiredness, but it was there, so he must've done something. That was how these things worked, right? 

So the man let the will to do anything at all drain out of him, and stood and stared, and felt incredibly worn. Eventually, the sun started to melt into oranges and pinks across the sky, and the dusk shoved away what remained of the sun, and the moon took up its mantle in the sky. Somewhere in all the this, the stars had cautiously peeked out, and children played connect-the-dots. 

The man did not pay attention to any of this, because the man couldn't really bring himself to care. A mosquito landed on his nose, and as the man considered whether or not lifting his hand to crush it was worth the effort, the mosquito was flying off down to his ankle. Both were itching rather furiously within a matter of minutes. This, and the chill that had swept in like a displeased mother-in-law, convinced the man to blink once, and then twice, and then consider if staring at the spot where he had seen a squirrel about three hours ago was the right way to spend the rest of his life. 

The man sighed again, because however tired he was, he still had just enough something left in him to conclude that staring at the spot where he had seen a squirrel about three hours ago was not a viable way to spend the rest of his life. But it was night, and the trees were nothing more than vaguely dark blurs amongst more vague darkness. The man nearly felt cheered at the thought of doing nothing until it was light out. 

So then, because the man knew absolutely nothing about nothing, he laid down and closed his eyes. Things could’ve been worse, maybe. It could've rained, and then the man would have had to sleep in mud. That would probably have been pretty unpleasant.

***

When the man woke up it was to the light pitter patter of rain, and what sounded like a search party. 

Could it be for me, he wondered, or whoever I am? It would be nice if there was a family out there looking for him, but. That seemed unlikely; a nice thought though. 

That left the other option: that somehow, the man had pissed off someone, or a large number of someones, and those unknown someone's had the power to send out a search party to find him. This was… unpreferable, but once the man acknowledged it, a sense of familiarity draped itself around his shoulders. 

The man considered his options. There weren't that many of them. He could try to get a closer look at the search party, but that would probably get the man caught. The forest ground was covered in underbrush and branches, not to mention the mud, and the man was not religious enough to trust that some all-powerful being would waltz down from the sky to quiet his steps. Trying to get farther from the site was out for the same reason. Moving in general was seeming like a pretty bad idea. 

This was… not an unpleasant thing, the man thought. Though the rain had seeped into the man's clothing and maybe down to the very marrow in his bones, and the earth that he laid down on was now mud, the man was still tired, and the world seemed a bit too much this early in the morning.

So the man closed his eyes, and allowed himself to sink back into the comforting, softness of sleep. 

***

When the man woke up for the second time, he could not breathe.

The man’s eyes flew open as the air rushed out of him. There was something- no someone on top of him. They had an interesting grasp of language that the man would rather not dwell on. And they were rather heavy. 

Amidst the stream of cussing, the stranger scrambled up. It wasn't the comfiest thing the man has ever experienced, although he had not experienced many things. 

Slowly, the man rolled over to see who has woken him up. 

It's another man, older than him, probably in his fifties, wearing fine robes, and looking down at the man like he was thinking very hard to come up with a reason for being in the middle of the forest. 

The stranger cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said in a jovial tone “I wasn't expecting to find anyone out here.” 

The man blinked up at the stranger. “...hello,” he replied eventually. An awkward silence followed. There’s crickets chirping in the woods, the man noticed. It would probably be very pleasant if the man had any idea of what was going on. 

Finally, the stranger decided to break the silence once more. “I am Nihim,” he said “have you heard of our Lord, Tal’kanor?” 

“...no,” said the man tentatively. This was the part where he divulged he was an amnesiac, right? But the man didn't think it was a good idea to go around telling his life story to strangers in the forest, even if his life story currently was about a day and a half long. 

Nihim’s eyebrows jolted up in surprise. Not hearing of whoever Talka’mar was apparently not the norm.

“I'm not from around here,” the man added, trying to cover up his obvious mistake.

“...I see,” Nihim said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Not all lands can be as blessed as ours is, to know of the great Lord.” 

The man nodded. It was probably best to agree with Nihim. He’d be less suspicious if he viewed the man as a friend. “Oh yes,” the man said “The land I hail from is depraved and corrupt. I escaped only by happenstance and luck.”


	2. the god who committed mass murder

Nihim blinked, like he wasn't expecting that to come out of the man’s mouth. A smile like that of a deranged clown, or man trying too hard to be inviting wriggled its way onto Nihim’s face. The man thought about letting the priest know that it wasn't working out for him, but thought better of it. Some things were meant to go unknown.

“Tal’kamar is the grace and savior of this great land,” Nihim began to preach, his arms spread out. The man thought about reminding Nihim that they were in a forest, and the man did not particularly consider himself religious, but then the man remembered that he was trying to be seen as amicable and friendly. How was he supposed to do that?

In the end, the man settled for smiling vaguely and nodding along. It seemed to work, for Nihim continued to regale the man, trees, and squirrels of Tal’kamar’s various exploits. 

“Tal’kamar came to us in a time of great darkness and struggle,” Nihim began “the land was plagued by great catastrophes and paganism ran amok and devastated the hearts of the people.” The man wondered what made Nihim’s religion so much better than the other paganists, but he again, made the rare, wise choice to keep his mouth shut. 

“He came down in a burst of sunshine, holding the great sword, Licanius, and said to us ‘do good and obey, and I shall do no harm.’” Idly, the man wondered if worshipping a man who threatened whoever happened to be nearby his burst of sunshine was really the greatest idea.“But the people rejected Tal’kamar’s glorious words, and spat at him. Grievously, Tal’kamar took his sword and slaughtered the unworthy and hideous. For the land could only flourish once they were gone.” 

The man’s smile became a little more strained. That sounded like mass murder. The man didn't think that worshipping a mass murderer would turn out fantastically. 

“He sounds… very… knowledgeable,” the man said, floundering for a word that was not a synonym for ‘murder-y’. 

Nihim nodded, radiating benevolent condescension. “Tal’kamar is the giver of all knowledge and education.” 

“Ah,” said the man. “That's, um, very nice? We're all so lucky Tal’kamar’s around.” 

“That we are,” said Nihim. 

The man had nothing more to say, so he gave his best shot at a smile. The man needed better aim. Nihim didn't say anything to this, and an awkward silence descended upon the forest. 

The man bounced on the balls of his feet and hoped Nihim would say something. Hopefully not along the lines of ‘who are you and what were you doing sleeping on the dirt?’

But- thinking of the man’s… erm. Current situation, Nihim might be the only person in this forest who wouldn't arrest him. That was something the man should probably take advantage of. 

“So,” the man said, piercing the silence with great effort and awkwardness “what brings you to… here?” It would also be nice if you could tell me where ‘here’ is. 

Nihim’s smile flickered briefly. “I am here,” he said, pausing for what might have been dramatic effect, or time to find an excuse for being here. “On a mission of great importance from our Lord, Tal’kamar.” 

The man grimaced and quickly tried to cover it up. Any mission from Tal’kamar, god of overreacting, couldn't end well. 

“Amazing,” the man settled on saying, meaning the exact opposite. “Would your mission from Tal’kamar happen to lead out of the forest? I was”-Oh no, this was bad, what should he say- “waylaid by bandits and lost my map.”

Nihim’s face contorted into one of horror. “Bandits!” he cried “here, in the District of Shen!” 

“Yes,” said the man “they had swords and pikes of sharpened wood, and threatened to relieve me of my life with my possessions if I did not immediately hand over all I had.” That was… something like how bandits acted, right? It must've been, because Nihim threw a hand against his heart and gasped again. 

“My friend!” said Nihim “what an experience you have been through! Rest assured, the Surveyors in Tol Shen will bring those who robbed you to justice.”

The man nodded and pretended he knew who the Surveyors in Tol Shen were. “I have no doubt,” he said, although he had much doubt. 

Nihim’s eyes were brimming with compassion and righteous anger, and the man thought that perhaps an acting troupe would have fitted Nihim better than priesthood. There, Nihim would be able to play more than one role, at least. 

“I would not be a priest of Tal’kamar if I did not lend my services to weary and lost travelers,” Nihim proclaimed. 

“Much thanks,” said the man. 

Nihim raised his eyebrows in a vague way, trying to signal that he acknowledged the man’s thanks, but did not have anything to say to it, and was thus hoping that raising his eyebrows would be enough. The man allowed a tense grin to flit across his face, and a second silence drifted around them. 

“So, um… are we, you know,” said the man, hating himself for it “going?” 

Nihim’s smile, as bright as a false sun, lit up. “Yes! Of course! This way!” And with that, Nihim turned past the man and awkwardly stumbled and hopped his way through a tangle of leafy things that the man did not like the look of. The man shot them a glare of warning and carefully stepped over them. 

And then a stem wrapped itself around the man’s ankle- what the hell, were plants supposed to act like that- and something sharp pierced his skin. Nausea and fatigue swept over him, oh fuck. 

The man was too occupied by the blinding aches in his head and the numbness crawling up from his ankles to notice Nihim awkwardly poking his cheek with the tip of his boot.


	3. Chapter 3

Nihim had made some pretty bad mistakes in his life. Some haunted him to this day; others probably did, but no one could quite be sure, as Nihim couldn't exactly remember the decisions in question. He had had a lot of wine.

This decision though. The decision to knock out a stranger in the woods and drag him to Nihim’s secret hideout. That decision. Yeah, that was a pretty goddawful decision, no doubt about it. 

In Nihim’s defense: there wasn't supposed to be anyone in the forest. No one at all. Nihim was supposed to have been able to fuck up Tol Shen’s shit and then hightail it out of there in complete solitude. Instead of that, some utter fuckwit had been taking a nap in the mud. Not even the dirt, the mud. Who the fuck took a nap in the mud. 

And then. Well, Nihim had panicked. It was a reasonable thing to do. Lots of people panicked under better circumstances. Nihim had acted in a completely reasonable and calm manner. 

The man on the floor’s foot twitched. Nihim had the tiny vine still twined around his ankle inject him with another dose of whatever had originally been injected into him. Having the power of controlling plants didn't mean Nihim knew jack shit about them, so the tiny plant’s name was unknown. 

Nihim walked over to the lavish pile of cushions in a corner and toppled over like a man crushed by unimaginable burdens and hardships, mainly because he was a man, crushed by unimaginable burdens and hardships. There were those who would disagree, but there were also people who thought that the current political system of District Shen was working out just fine. 

Hm. This was not an ideal situation. There was a kid- man? No, he seemed a bit too… inexperienced- lying unconscious in the middle of Nihim’s secret hideout, that at least 50 people knew about. The kid was not supposed to be one of those 50 people. 

If Taeris were here, he'd point out how the situation had largely been transformed from ‘troublesome’ to ‘a bonafide catastrophe’ by Nihim himself, but Nihim thought it best to acknowledge the ugly parts of life and move on. There would still be a passed out kid on Nihim’s expensive rug even if Nihim did feel guilty about being the one who dragged him there. 

Now the problem was, how to get the kid out of Nihim’s nonexistent and imaginary hair without sounding an alarm for the Tol. Just dumping the kid outside might work, but it also might end in the kid’s subsequent torture and death, and Nihim was a bit of a bastard, but only bit. Although the kid would really only be in his original position, so it'd be like Nihim had never interfered, so technically Nihim was doing him a favor right now. Maybe the kid would acknowledge that; Nihim liked it when people felt indebted to him. 

Wait.

He might be onto something there. 

People who felt indebted to him. 

Well. The kid did sleep in mud. He’d fit in just fine. Who knows. He might even like it among the rebels of Athian.


End file.
